The only problem with the Final Problem
by LoopyLou XD
Summary: For Jim, there was only one problem with solving the Final Problem... A few of Jim's thoughts, the night before the 'roof incident'. Just a short MorMor one-shot, rated T because there is one word in there that is not for little kiddies- bad Jim, how could you? P.S. I use the genre 'romance' as lose as it could possibly be! XD


**Hi, so this is my very first _published _fanfic (HORAY :) I am actually curently in the middle of two others, both Sherlock and I HAVE NOT abandonded them... I'm just temporarily taking a break from them :D  
**

**ANYWAY, this is just what I think might've been going through Jim's head the night before the rooftop... _incident_... At least, I hope this is whatwas going through his head, because I think it's cute... sad, but cute too :)**

**Oh and this only works if Jim is _actually _dead, which we all know is ridiculous, I mean, come on, he's James freaking Moriarty- a bullet wouldn't stop him.**

**So yeah, back on subject, I hope you like it! XD**

* * *

The rain slammed down upon roofs all over London, sliding swiftly across the dimly lit windows. The sound of expensive shoes was barely audible as the figure clad in Westwood strode up the concrets path.  
It was late.  
Later than Jim had expected.

Jim actually didn't like the rain, but what he _did _like, was the stillness of London late at night, when the rain confined everyone to cover.

Unlocking the door, he stepped inside the small flat, shaking the rain out of his hair.

Taking quiet steps upstairs, he slipped into the shower, letting the scolding hot water warm his him, and sear red marks into his skin. He stood there for a moment, trying his hardest to keep his mind blank- he couldn't manage it for very long…

He stepped out of the shower, drying himself off before he stole quietly into the bedroom. As he opened the door, the dull shaft of light illuminated the bed, and his eyes landed on the outline of a figure wrapped up in the sheets.  
"Hello Tiger," he murmured to himself.

Shutting the door, and plunging the room into darkness once more, Jim crept forward and slid into the bed, silently sidling up against Sebastian's side and laying his head on his chest, drawing warmth from his bare skin.

In an odd display of affection, he reached a hand up to brush across Sebastian's cheek, tracing a line along his cheekbone. He was careful not to wake Sebastian, though.  
It wouldn't do to have Tiger see him so strangely loving.

Jim closed his eyes, listening to the deep, rhythmic sounds of Sebastian's breath, clashing against the loud, erratic pounding of the rain on the roof and windows.

He knew what tomorrow would bring, and if all went to plan it would be delightful.  
He was sure it would go alright.  
Sherlock was being so disappointingly dull.

There was a large part in his mind that knew he didn't really want to come back from the roof.  
It was a part that he had stubbornly refused to acknowledge.  
Now, in the stillness, he began to allow it to surface, to whisper its venomous words.

He wasn't afraid to die.  
That was never a problem.  
Never.

Dying would certainly not be very boring.

The more he thought about it, the more he realised that dying wasn't so bad- actually, it would solve the problem.  
The Final Problem.

No, that wasn't what stood in his way…

It was Sebastian.

He didn't want to leave Sebastian.

A very loud voice in his head began to swear and bite and sneer at him for that.  
Why should he care about his _sniper?_  
So they had fucked a few times- so they shared a bed.  
It wasn't like he _loved _him or anything.

He was Jim Moriarty.

He didn't love things like that.

He had the gun picked out and everything…  
Such a nice little tool it was…  
One of Sebastian's wasn't it?  
It probably was…

His eyes snapped open when he felt something cool slide down his cheek.  
The roof wasn't leaking was it?  
What was that?

_A tear._

What?

No.

He was Jim Moriarty.

He didn't cry.

So why was there a tear on his cheek?

Angrily, he pulled his hand away from Sebastian's face, sitting up abruptly, still careful not to wake him.

He couldn't allow such feeble things as emotions stand in his way of solving the problem.  
_The Final Problem…_

He lay back down, pulling the sheets around him and feeling Sebastian's arm unconsciously tug him closer.

He _would _solve the problem.  
Sebastian would be fine without him.  
Why should Sebastian care about him anyway?  
He was like Jim, in a lot of ways.  
He didn't love things like that, either.  
He didn't, did he?

No.  
This man was Sebastian Moran.  
And he was Jim Moriarty.  
They _did not_ love things like that…

No…  
Jim would solve the problem…

The Final Problem.

* * *

**So, did you like? If you would like to leave a review, I'd be delighted- AND if you want to tell me it is absolute rubbish and you hated, feel free to do that also, as long as you tell me what you didn't like about it. I welcome constructive critisism, even if its harsh. But if you are going to say it sucks because gay relationships are stupid, be prepared for me to track you down and feed you your eyes!**

On that happy note, bye! XD


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